


A Home That Was

by timeless_alice



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Comfort, Homesickness, M/M, Talking About Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 05:23:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21049007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeless_alice/pseuds/timeless_alice
Summary: Sometimes Optimus misses home





	A Home That Was

There were times, precarious moments where things had slowed and the world turned a little more quiet so that the ever present buzzing in the back of his head had nothing stopping it from emerging. Optimus Prime was adept at keeping himself from feeling raw from those moments, keeping the poise that was expected of him as the leader of the scattered Autobots who no longer had a place–

Stop.

It was late evening on the planet Earth and the weight of Longing was bearing heavily on Optimus’ shoulders. Which was not to say there was never a moment where it wasn’t, but on uneventful days that would have been seen as more leisurely than anything else, had it been earlier in the war, it was all his mind would cycle around. Earth had its charms, of course it did, with its rolling hills with flora that waved under gentle breezes and curious fauna that lurked just out of sight. But it was not Cybertron, could never hope to be.

He had holed himself away, after keeping the ever present - ever necessitated - mask of stoic, collected leader for the rest of the team. But they had turned in for the night, or gone on missions, or had otherwise given him excuse to be alone. To think. To long in all the ways that made his Spark ache in the profoundest ways he tried to ignore at all other hours. He had taken a seat in the corner of a small room in the base, using all the will power he had to not venture back into the main room and to the command counsel, to look for pictures of the home long since gone. Search for pictures of younger, happier days that felt ever more elusive with each passing day.

He almost did not hear the door open, almost did not react when he heard approaching footsteps. But his shoulders tensed and he lifted his head. It was only Ratchet, moving with some purpose across the way with his steady, sure strides and mouth pulled into a stern line, looking as he always looked. But seeing Optimus, their eyes connecting for just the briefest of moments, he softened in just the minutest ways. Ways that Optimus was sure only he would be able to notice, at least among those still living.

“Optimus,” Ratchet said. Then, voice softening at the edges, “Orion.”

It was strange how something so simple could make him fold so easily. Everyone else on base, everyone else who only knew him in the After, called him Optimus. Out of respect, mostly, and out of some kind of reverence. But not Ratchet. Optimus waited a moment, vents letting out a soft huff of air as plating on his back shifted to be a little less tense.

“Is something wrong?” Ratchet said, in that tone of his that implied that yes, he knew there was something wrong. Knew there was something that lingered at the back of both of their minds at all time, but wanted Optimus to say it himself.

There was a moment, however fleeting, where he considered just lying. Of saying that he was just tired and wanted some time to himself. But those words wouldn’t come, no matter how he tried to arrange them in his head. Instead, he just said, “I’m thinking about Cybertron.”

The silence between them seemed to stretch on forever, reaching all the way back to before the war was even a potential. And Ratchet broke it with a steady sigh that filled the room with all his own longing and mourning for what was lost.

“How long,” Optimus went on, when Ratchet’s lack of reply spurred him on. “How much longer can we do this.”

There was no answer, because he knew Ratchet did not have one readily available. It was not one an injury to be healed, or an instance of foolhardiness to be cured with a snapped comment. It ran so much deeper, threatening to swallow them whole with its despair at any moment.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. He settled beside Optimus, close enough so they were touching. It was familiar, and for a moment Optimus felt that if he closed his eyes he would be back on Cybertron, in that glorious moment of Before (though he knew, at the bottom of everything, he would do the same again and again). 

Optimus wanted to lean against him, to let him share the weight of his burden for just a moment. But he didn’t, knowing that Ratchet had his own struggles to bear for all the years of fighting.

“We’ll go back, one day,” he said, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Ratchet’s dubious expression. Optimus couldn’t even try to pretend to be hopeful, though he went on, as if the mere act of speaking would bring it into being: “We’ll go back and repair.” He almost said that it would be like the war had never happened, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it, and the words died in his throat.

Ratchet hummed his reply, eyes trailing over Optimus as he thought. He reached out a hand and covered Optimus’ own, gentle and comforting in a way he would never be in public, in full view of the others. “And that’ll keep us going.” And it was an earnest statement, without the usual Ratchet Sarcasm.

Because if they believed it enough, in all the ways that seemed foolish to to minds turned cynical from years of war, it might some day be true.

**Author's Note:**

> written as a commission :3c
> 
> find me at timelessmulder on tumblr


End file.
